1901 · CLOSE READING
The Mother’s Tragedy
The Mother’s Tragedy (1901), PDF p. 86
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72 THE BRIDEGROOM
I will not look at her ; I dare not stay.
I will go down and mingle with the throng,
Find some debasing dulling sacrifice,
Some shameless harlot with thin lips grown grey
In desperate desire, and so with song
And wine fling hellward. Yes, she does not
rise—
O if she opened once her eyes!
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